Brielle's POV. Those dazzling, pearly whites own me, every single time. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and I swear, it's like he has me under a spell. He's rocking that custom-made suit, every move screams confidence, And those legs? Lord have mercy, They're long, muscular, utterly captivating. And then there’s the way he touches his earpiece, so casual, so smooth. Like he’s orchestrating something big, something important. He tilts his head slightly, that familiar intensity in his eyes… 'Ms. Monroe.' The words echo, over and over, each one wrapped in that low, velvet tone I know so well. Andrei’s voice, It's like butter for my soul, melting me into a puddle of desire. 'Mr. Carter.' His name tumble out of my mouth, unbidden, but oh-so-welcome, like I’m part of this moment with him—like we’re connected in some strange, unspoken way. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I don’t want it to stop. I feel anchored and weightless all at once, But then the scene starts to unrav
Brielle's POV. A quick glance at my watch confirms my worst fears: 45 minutes late. Not exactly the impression I wanted to make. I leap out of the taxi, already behind schedule. My heels feel like they're slowing me down, but I pick up the pace, dashing through the revolving doors and into the lobby. The reception desk is manned by a gorgeous young woman with jet-black hair, who looks up at me with a sweet, welcoming smile. I feel a sudden pang of self-consciousness as I approach her. “Ms. Monroe, welcome.” she says, her gray eyes sparkling. I nod, wondering how she knew my name. Then I remember — my ID, which I used to apply for the job. “Thank you,” I reply, a faint blush rising to my cheeks. “We've been expecting you, and you arrived right on time… almost,” she teases, “Welcome to Cartridge Industries. We're glad to have you on board, and you're running a bit behind. The boss is expecting you in three minutes. Can it have your ID, please.? “Of course, I'm so sorry,” I apol
Brielle's POV “Don’t worry, I won’t bite… hard, Ms Monroe. Help yourself to a drink and take a deep breath,” he says, and I can almost picture the smirk on his face. “Not nervous, just caffeinated,” I quip, trying to mask my nerves with humor. “Thanks for having, me Sir. This office is… incredible." “Let's get down to business, shall we? Unless you'd like a few more minutes…" I take another breath, trying to steady my nerves, and respond, “No, I'm ready when you are, sir.” A quick seat-adjustment later, I'm ready to face… well, whatever this meeting throws my way. Although I'm starting to feel like a lab rat in some kind of bizarre experiment. The CEO is watching me from who-knows-where, his face hidden behind a veil of secrecy. It's seriously freaking me out. And then there's his voice. It's like a sonic boom, shaking every molecule in the room. I can feel the vibrations humming through my fingertips, making my skin crawl. “Before we proceed, Ms. Monroe I'd, of course, lik
Brielle's POV Traffic—the ultimate nemesis. I spent a whole hour stuck in it, and I'm still fuming. I toss a few bucks at the taxi driver and slump out of the cab, letting out a dramatic sigh. The taxi speeds away, leaving me to trudge up to the front door. It's darker than I expected — a reminder that today was a 9-to-6 marathon, not the usual 9-to-5 grind. To complicate things further, I had to rewrite that ridiculous essay five times! Five! What's next? A pop quiz on the history of coffee? I stumble into the house, ready to collapse onto the nearest couch. But, of course, my family has other plans. Mom, Dad, and Ivy are standing in the living room, looking like they've been waiting for my arrival with bated breath. Mom's holding a tiny cake with a single candle on it. Really, Mom? A cake? I just got a job, not a Nobel Prize. I drop my purse on the table, take a deep breath, and make a wish that this job isn't as crazy as it seems. That the CEO isn't actually a robot sent
Brielle's POV. As another dreary Friday afternoon drags on, I’m cooped up in my office, desperately trying to get some work done. But, it's not easy when CEO CCI's voice is blasting through the audio speakers every five seconds. “Send me copy of the updated business proposal. Exactly 7 pm. Don't be late.” Presently, I'm talking ear-splitting, headache-inducing, 'please-make-it-stop' levels of volume. I glance at the clock… 5 pm. Two hours to go before I can submit the proposal. I'm starting to think my boss has a personal vendetta against my social life. And to make matters worse, Ivy's art aunction is at 6:45 pm – and I'm determined not to be late. Fashionably late is one thing, but showing up after the champagne toast? That's like basically the highlight of my week. I've been practicing my “cheers” face in the mirror, and I'm not about to let a little thing like a proposal deadline get in the way of my bubbly. “Getting distracted?” His voice booms through the speak
Brielle's POV Well, color me… surprised. I spin around, curiosity getting the better of me, and that's when I see him - A billionaire in every sense. His back is to us, and he's chatting with another distinguished gent. His hair, a rich shade of chestnut, is neatly coiffed, hinting at a fastidious nature. His stature is commanding, his frame muscular and tall. Ivy turns to me, her eyes wide with wonder, and whispers, “Who is that?” She looks at me expectantly, like I've got all the answers. I lean in close, my lips forming a conspiratorial smile. “That,” I whisper in reply, “is the million-dollar question, literally. And I have no idea.” Ivy's eyes widen further, her gaze darting between me and the stranger. “You're telling me you have no clue who that person is, but he just spent $100,000 on a portrait of you? That's nuts, Brielle. You need to go talk to him.” "What? There's no way I'm going to march up to some stranger and strike up a conversation just because he splurged on
Brielle's POV The doorbell's shrill ring cuts through the silence of the house, and Mom pops her head out of the kitchen. “Brielle, can you get the door please?” I'm right in the middle of crushing this project. My fingers grip the mouse like it's a lifeline, but I know I'm beat. Mom's expectant gaze is practically burning a hole through the wall. With a dramatic sigh, I push my chair back, and trudge towards the door. Whoever is on the other side better be worth it. The doorbell rings again, and I'm already halfway to the door. “Brielle!” “Got it, Mom!” I holler back, trying to save her the trouble of wiping her flour-covered hands on her apron. She's been cooking up a storm in the kitchen all morning, and I've been busy with work. I swing open the door, and my eyes land on a gentle-looking man standing on our porch. He's dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark jeans, and his warm smile puts me at ease. But what really catches my attention is the bouquet of sunflowers in hi
Brielle's POV It's another Monday, and time seems to have gone into overdrive. It's as if someone hit the fast-forward button on my life, and I'm racing through days at breakneck speed. I step out of the car, my eyes adjusting to the bright morning light, when suddenly, I'm met with a sight so surreal that I rub my eyes, convinced I'm still dreaming. There, emblazoned across the glass walls of CCI, is a vivid, technicolor rendition of the portrait of me. It's me, frozen in time, my features heightened by the vivid pigments splashed across the canvas. My jaw drops in shock as I stare, mesmerized, at the larger-than-life image of myself. Stunned, I take a few hesitant steps towards the building, my heart thudding against my chest. It's like déjà vu all over again, except this time, the portrait is staring back at me with an intensity that makes me want to shrink back into the shadows. Once inside the lobby of the office building I find myself scrutinizing the faces of those
Brielle's POV Final chapter. “Fine,” Jeremy voice cracks with restraint, the single word drawn out in a reluctant admission. I'm low-key freaking out, my heart racing with anticipation. He's just about confessing. “I'm the one who orchestrated the whole thing. I snatched Brielle's parents right from under their noses, ripping them from their picture-perfect lives. i'd kidnapped her, held her captive against her will, and drained your bank accounts. But here's the kicker, Andrei… you're too little, too late. The police are already en route, and they're coming for you, not me.” I take a deep breath, my eyes burning with determination. “No way, Jeremy. I won't let you pin Jamie's murder on Andrei. He's innocent." He narrows his gaze at me, “You know, for a hostage, you're awfully opinionated.” I sneak a peek at Andrei, and his 'I've got this' expression makes me feel like everything's gonna be okay. I mean, Jeremy's still being his usual, awful self, but with Andrei's ca
Brielle's POV “Just trying to appreciate the finer things in life, Andrei. Like that fine-ass butt.” I admit feeling my face heat up. He chuckles, clearly enjoying my unabashed admiration, “that's… Probably the most creative compliment I ever heard and the way yours fills out that robe is criminal, Brielle.” I suppress the urge to turn around. This mutual butt appreciation is getting ridiculous – or ridiculously entertaining. He scans the room, gathering his belongings. Meanwhile, I stand there, a robe-clad without any to change into or not to talk of clothings to put in a box and yesterday's clothes that are so last season — literally. Just when the silence is about to get deafening, Andrei breaks it with a casual suggestion, “you should shower first.” My mind whirs. I’m thinking, Geez, how do I break this news to him without making it super awkward?” The last thing I want is to be standing there, naked, with no clothes to put on, while he just stares at me like I’ve gon
Brielle's POV I'm deliciously spent, my senses sated. Andrei executes a brief, yet vital, wardrobe adjustment, then turns around, patting his back invitingly, “Okay, up you go.” They say “there’s a first time for everything”, and today I’m getting my inaugural piggyback ride—. Courtesy of Andrei. With the grace of a seal gliding onto an iceberg, I slide my bare rear off the table, leaving behind only a warm imprint of my departure. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on tight as he firmly grasps my thighs, lifting me up. With his support, I hop onto his back. “Comfortable?” He asks. “Mhm, perfect.” Our journey begins with a trio of solid thuds, Andrei’s feet hitting the floorboards of the pavilion as he descends. The night air is refreshingly still and quiet… except for the sound of my nervous laughter and Andrei's steady breathing as he navigates the stairs. His usually steady gait falters, his foot catching on some unseen obstacle, and my weight threatens to send him
Brielle's POV He leans in again, His mouth hovering over my breast, “How many white lies have you told?” “One.” He pulls back, “Think again.” I knit my brow trying to focus, to pull my scattered thoughts into some semblance of order. It's a futile effort. I'm still drowning in waves of pure ecstasy. Andrei's lips close around my nipple, and I moan at the sudden sensation. He releases all too soon, again. “Two lies, baby” he purrs. “The first, when you said you never fucked yourself.” His words ignite a thrill that courses through my body, culminating in a sweet ache between my legs. “And the second when you denied ever having fantasies. Now, are you ready to confess them to me… and be rewarded?” His grip on my hand slackens, freeing my fingers to roam. He’s upon me, his mouth latching onto my nipple. Sensation overwhelm my ability to think as His tongue swirls and dances, only to pull back again, letting my nipple pop out of his mouth with a wet plop. I writhe be
Brielle's POV “I'd taken his crap before, no problem. He'd kick my ass, I'd take it. But watch him hurt a three-year-old?” That chuckle, that creepy-ass chuckle, is making my hair stand on end. Andrei's got a lot to say, needs to stop drowning in that drink and talk it out with me. Perhaps if we can get to the root of whatever’s got him so twisted, we can cut it out, get him right again. I screw up my courage, trying to keep my voice from cracking as I ask, “What happened next?” “I lost it. Charged at him and slammed him to the ground. I had him in a tight chokehold, crushing the air out of him. His face turned purple, eyes popping… Killing Archibald wasn't the plan. Just wanted to put the fear of God into him… In a wild twist, he managed to grab a blade and… Carved himself a nasty gash.” Andrei scrapes his thumb along the side of his neck, “This is where he sliced himself. Fucker cried assault. Tried to put me away for attempted murder.” “And Helen?” “Was locked up a
Brielle's POV He gives my earlobe a sneaky little nibble. Damn, if that doesn't stir up something inside me, “Why rush when the journey is half the fun, hmm? We've got lines to run, not lips to lock.” So glad Andrei's here to suck the fun out of… everything. What would I do without him? I'm two seconds away from giving him a good shove, just to knock him off his game. “What?” he asks, that infuriatingly smug smirk still slapped across his face. I purse my lips, cross my arms, “You're really asking 'what'? Like you don't know exactly what you're doing?” Andrei whips out a sheaf of papers from his back pocket, "Shall we begin?” I narrow my eyes, “You expect me to jump right into this after all your little games?” He chuckles, shrugging one shoulder in a charmingly nonchalant gesture. “It's all part of the rehearsal.” “Part of the rehearsal, huh?” I retort, “So that little earlobe nibbling number was in the script? I must have missed that memo.” He laughs," I figure
Brielle's POV My heart stutters, “What?” I try to speak. The words wouldn't come out. Not one single word is showing up to the party. Wearing a sidelong smirk, Andrei jerks his head towards the elevator, “she's been tapping her foot impatiently. Shall we give the poor thing some attention?” Nodding, I swallow my regret. Why didn't I just say something? “I'm intrigued, Brielle. This demure side of you is… unexpected.” He plunders the guest room closet, digging through piles of high-quality linens, designer clothes, and expensive accessories. it's basically a carbon copy of his own — super luxurious. I stand back, curious about what Andrei's searching for. My nerves are still on edge, which is… ridiculous. “Guess, I'll coax them out of you. Every last one.” My curiosity spikes, “How?” “All in good time. Shall we get you into something a bit more… refined?” The robe he hands me is a stunner — bold red, V-neck, and flowing long sleeves, all accented perfectly with
Brielle's POV. Drying soap bubbles speckle Andrei's hands as he meets my eyes, “What's so fascinating?” “It's your charm, Mr. Carter, that's got me in a stare.” His mouth curves into a sly, upward tilt, “You're not so bad yourself. Maybe we can stare at each other for a while and see who cracks first.” Deep down, I'm thinking, 'Seriously, Mr. Carter? Are you not seeing this ensemble?' Perhaps he's just trying to be kind? Yeah, that must be it. After completing the dishes, Andrei takes a moment to dry his hands before wandering over to where I'm sitting, his pace leisurely. I stare at his bare feet, my brain momentarily fixated on the sight. “Why no shoes, Mr. Carter?” “Walking barefoot is like a yoga practice. Builds up the balance, strengthens the soles, and gets you in touch with Mother Earth.” I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. How much of that is actually true, I wonder? He reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me gently into his orbit. And suddenly, my focus shifts from An
Brielle's POV. Andrei’s sweatpants could have fit two of me—and the kitchen sink. He’s a big guy, but these pants were made for a grizzly bear on a beer bender. If I didn’t cinch the drawstrings tight enough, I’d be wading in a sea of fabric, wearing a tent masquerading as sweatpants. I’m halfway through adjusting my shirt when I catch a glimpse of my him in the kitchen. Oh, dear lord. The man might as well be wearing oven mitts for hands. I reach for a bottle of water, partly because I’m parched, and partly to cover up the fit of giggles that’s about to erupt from my lungs “You okay, chef?” I ask, trying to keep a straight face as I watch him fumble with the spatula. “Yeah, sure Brielle.” He scratches his forehead, and I can practically see the sweat beading up. Poor baby's never looked so stressed. “Sure you've totally got this, Andrei?” I survey the chaos, raising an eyebrow at the egg-astrophe. The shells are scattered everywhere and there's a bowl of what appears to be e